A bunch of Clowns,
Lying and making sounds,
Not even good enough,
To be words that will remain,
Under a canapé of clouds,
Yelling, so that all can hear,
How they, the elected Clowns will satisfy,
All the people, listening, stupefied.
But once elected, promises forgotten, rejected,
The same trap year after year, the same veneer,
Poor foolish Seals, with their clapping hands,
Hope and change, always buried, in the same old Sands.
So beautifully envisioned and aptly presented. An intensive poem. ....10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Until these clowns are removed There will always be a show down whether it is in east or west or else anywhere. Very well said Sandra.